


In Dribs and Drabs

by justscribbling



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Drabbles, F/M, Prompt Fic, Tumblr Prompt, Vignettes, olicity - Freeform, oneshots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-09-17
Packaged: 2018-02-11 04:54:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2054409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justscribbling/pseuds/justscribbling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All the cool kids were doing it: here's a collection of oneshots, drabbles, ficlets, and whatever else I may be lucky to scribble down.</p><p>Latest: Chapter 7 - bus ride from hell (prompt fic)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Felicity Smoak knew she was socially awkward.  It was okay. She’d accepted that part of herself a long time ago. Sure, it made for some embarrassing interactions, but it was not something she was ashamed of.  Her mind simply moved too fast.

It never occurred to her, though, that a lack of brain-to-mouth filter might have an effect in the opposite direction. Because that must be the reason why the sensations on her lips went shooting straight past all thought to short-circuiting her brain. It sent electric tingles along her jaw, curling up the base of her head— _no, wait, that was his fingers doing that._

Oliver’s lips, however, were pressed against hers, a hungry caress that was slipping into her, until she wasn’t sure whose hunger she was feeling—his or hers. She angled her head up for _more, please_ — or was that his hand doing that, fingers burying themselves into her hair and gently raking her scalp. A delicious shudder worked down her spine—she hadn’t realized her scalp was an erogenous zone.

Was her brain still working?

Dimly, she felt her hair fall free of its ponytail. A tiny moan escaped her lips only to strangle itself into a whimper as Oliver gently nipped her bottom lip between his teeth. That wasn’t playing fair, she thought.

"Really? This hasn’t felt like an even playing field in a _long_ time,” he murmured, chuckling out a breath.

"What? Oh. So the lack of brain-to-mouth filter thing still—"

Oliver moved down to kissing her chin, her jaw, her neck—Oh. Her eyes shuttered. Hell, who needed a brain right now.


	2. where dreams may fail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver. Felicity. Lair. Blankets. (At least, I think that's how this oneshot began -- which should have been fluffy and hopeful, but ended up being a little bit more angsty.)

By the time he returned to the main lair, Oliver wasn't quite sure how long he'd taken in the shower; he only remembered standing under the running water, waiting for the heat sliding past his skin to seep into his weary muscles. It never quite did.

The muted sounds of computers whirring and keyboard keys clicking told him Felicity was still around before he saw her. She was leaning forward on her elbows with her attention focused on the constant streaming of text on her monitors.

Somehow sensing him, though, she angled her head to him and met his gaze with a faint smile.

"Digg's gone home?"

She nodded.

"Yeah. Poor Lyla," Felicity said, almost as if to herself, shaking her head. "Two weeks over due. You'd think with parents like Diggle and Lyla, the little guy would be on time or something."

Her tiny smile came with a little breath that felt tired even from the distance that separated them. They were all tired, Oliver reflected. Coming up next to her, he glanced at the multiple screens before eying her.

"You should head home, too."

Felicity swayed her head, drawing a vague figure-eight with her chin. "I will, but I want to get all this done first."

He lifted an eyebrow at the screen in askance, and in response, her finger wagged at each monitor.

"Lance, QC, Arrow," she said.

Felicity freelanced her IT skills now; and when she made that decision, she'd said it would give her more control of her time and energy. In theory, it had sounded better than trying to have a cover identity at some another job. In actuality, though, she had ended up with three full time jobs.

Not for the first time, he felt a twinge of guilt. It occurred to Oliver that he wasn't the only one trying to balance multiple lives.

"You go ahead, though, Oliver, I can lock up--"

He shook his head. "I'll stay." He didn't tell her that most nights, he'd been sleeping at the lair instead of his apartment, anyway. "Not long, though." He looked down at her. "And then you go home."

"Not long," she agreed.

Oliver spent the first hour checking and cleaning equipment in the lair. A second hour came and went, and Oliver spent that stretch of time alternatingly watching Felicity and making a pretense of studying his Queen Consolidated legal files. During the third hour, he sat next to her and listened to her explain exactly what she was doing when he asked if he could help. It was mildly frustrating to find that he really couldn't.

Whenever he prompted her about putting things off until the next day, she would only shake her head, pursing her lips with a determined pinch and a promise that she would be done "soon".

Whenever she began to tell him to go home, his laconic expression stole the rest of her words before she could finish.

"Well, then, go get some sleep at least," she finally said. Felicity pushed her glasses up, rubbing the corner of one eye with a crooked knuckle. She gave him a sidelong gaze. "Because, honestly, you look like you use it, Oliver. Plus it'll make me feel less guilty keeping you here. I'll wake you when I'm done."

"If anything, Felicity, we _both_ need sleep."

Felicity didn't even blink, much less blush at his statement, which only told him how exhausted she was.

"And I'll get it," she said. "I can afford the late mornings, remember? A perk of determining my own hours. I promise, once this is done, I'll go home and crash for a good solid eight hours. You, however, still need to be up and about in--" She looked at the right corner of her screen and pulled a face. "Less than five hours. Go. Sleep."

Felicity arched her eyebrows above the rim of her glasses. It was a brief show of energy -- one that almost had him believing she would get up and march him to the cot. He smiled faintly and inclined his head.

By the time he reached the cot, she'd already turned her attention back to her work, so she didn't see him sit rather than lie down nor did she see him lean his back against the adjacent wall. He folded his arms, bracing his body in position, and allowed his eyes to drift close.

He didn't quite fall asleep. Just a restless semi-consciousness. A sleepless slumber. It would be sufficient. It always was, purely out of necessity. In the space between consciousness and sleep, he listened to the rhythm of her fingers typing on the keys.

Almost exactly an hour later by his internal clock, he opened his eyes. It was quiet, except for the faint hum of computers still running. There was no sound of typing, and it looked like there hadn't been for a while.

Silently, he got to his feet and walked over to Felicity's workstation. He looked at the screens and from what he could tell, _none_ of the work she'd been working on was close to being done. Why was he not surprised? He tilted his gaze down and took in her sleeping form.

Felicity's cheek rested on folded forearms next to the keyboard, her ponytail falling forward to curl around her neck. She'd somehow tucked her feet under her in the chair-- her shoes lay abandoned on the floor beneath her--and Oliver felt an inexplicable sadness wash over him.

She made a small noise when he touched her elbow and her head jerked up. Her gaze remained unfocused, though, as she looked up at him and he doubted she realized he was leaning toward her. Wordlessly, he guided her against him as he hooked an arm underneath her knees and cradled her back with another arm, lifting her up in one smooth motion.

There was another soft noise, like a hum at the back of her throat, and then Felicity's head moved to rest in the crook of his shoulder. Her eyes drifted closed and Oliver felt, rather than heard, the satisfied sigh leave her. A second later, he wasn't sure if she had been the one to burrow deeper into him, or if it was he who had tightened his hold on her. Maybe both.

"Did the programs finish?" Her eyes were still closed.

"Not yet," he told her, after weighing the chances of the truth stirring her again. "You can deal with it in the morning, Felicity."

"Mmm." Her fingers made a half-hearted attempt to move, possibly in objection, before resting on his other shoulder again. "Okay."

Oliver allowed himself a smile then and carried her over to the cot. He held her a breath longer than necessary in that moment realizing the warmth of her body had somehow seeped into his body in a way the shower hours earlier never did, and he was reluctant to let her go. Instead, he let out the breath he was holding in, and gently lowered her into the cot. He unfolded the blanket, tucking it around her. When his fingers pulled the edges around her shoulders, one of her hands reached up and touched his.

"Oliver," she murmured. "Where…"

"I'll be right here."

"Mm." Her eyelashes fluttered as she tried to squint at him. She must have succeeded because she closed her eyes again, seemingly appeased. "'Kay."

She barely stirred when he finally extracted his fingers from hers and lifted her glasses off. Without them, she looked even more… vulnerable.

And that was the reason he gave himself as Oliver sat down on the floor beside the cot. He leaned against the frame of the cot so that he faced toward the rest of the lair, but as he let his eyes drift close again, it was to the sound of her soft breathing in his ear that comforted him.

And for just a few hours, Oliver let himself feel -- just a little -- what it might feel like for Felicity to need him as much as he needed her.

 


	3. girl with the tattoo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Birthday gift-ficlet for the lovely teenagewerewolveslunareclipse! I hope your personal new year is filled with joy, laughter, and lots of love!

Felicity walked beside him, two brisk steps to his one, never straying from his side. Early on, he'd tried to adjust his stride--but she'd hurried along ahead of him, oblivious to his efforts, until he'd had to resume his normal pace.

When they finally reached the door, Oliver paused, glancing over his shoulder to ensure that they were clear while Felicity keyed in the pass code. At the sound of the locks releasing, he took the handle and pushed the door open and his hand swept over her back to usher her in; more out of habit than necessity. He didn't even think twice about it--that is, until his palm pressed against the side of her lower back and Felicity jerked away with a pained hiss.

The frown came with swift alarm. "Felicity, are you hurt?"

"What? Oh, no. No, no, nope!" Her lips punctuated her denial with a hard 'p' before her eyes widened and her pony tail whipped left and right in a sharp shake of the head. She hurried inside.

The doors closed behind them, and Oliver watched her practically hop into her computer chair. She braced her hands on her armrests, though--careful not to lean back.

"So," he said, coming up to her slowly. "You hissing at me will be a thing now?"

It took a beat before her chair swiveled around and she gave him a sidelong look. She sighed. "It's nothing."

Oliver lifted an eyebrow. "As you've pointed out to me many times, 'it's nothing' doesn't hold that much weight any more in this room."

"Hey," she said, holding up a finger and pointing at him. "That's all on you. The last time you said 'it's nothing', you were bleeding from a knife wound that needed twelve stitches."

He felt the corner of his mouth twitch and tried to regroup. "Felicity. If you hurt your back--"

"I didn't hurt it, Oliver," she said. Another sigh. "At least, it's not an actual injury or anything like that."

But it _did_ hurt, and he was moving closer, eying her the profile of her torso. "Did you pull a muscle? Or is it a bruise--?"

"Oliver, I got a tattoo."

The rest of his words died on his parted lips, and he stared at her for a moment. He pressed his mouth closed, parted them to speak… and closed them again. Felicity watched him and adjusted her glasses, an amused smile finally gracing her face.

"The bandage's off," she said. "But it's still tender, so…." She cocked her head to the side, studying him. "You look really, really surprised. Stunned almost. At least, I'm assume that, and that's it's not… disapproval, I hope." Her voice was mild.

He blinked. "No. Not at all." His gaze fell to her shoulder again. "What…" His throat felt a little dry as he pressed his lips together again, trying to regroup once more. He took in a little breath. "…Can I ask…?"

She looked at him with an equal mix of amusement and sheepishness. "Can you ask why I got the tattoo, or what tattoo I got?"

He smiled then. "Dealer's choice."

There was a pause before she chuckled softly, almost with a bit of exasperation, and stood up, turning around so her back faced him. His eyebrows itched to climb up, but he schooled them in place, telling himself to present a polite, respectful interest. How ever the hell that must look, he thought.

He watched her fingers take a hold of the tucked in blouse and tugged it free from her skirt, and despite his previous efforts, his eyebrows flew up anyway because she reached behind to undo the top buttons at her waist. It was, however, only so she could tug the waistband just two inches down to reveal a decidedly small area of skin on the right side of her lower back.

He stared.

For a split second, he saw the triangular star points and thought it was a Bratva tattoo before he realized all points were identical, much smaller in size and contained within a circle.

It was a simplified rose compass.

Oliver drew closer, curiosity pulling him, as he further realized that the compass wasn't aligned straight up, but was, in fact, tilted. The angle was underscored by an arrow that ran through it from bottom right to top left. It wasn't just a line with an arrow head, either, but a stylized arrow, quiver and all.

"Why…" His words trailed off, as he looked up and met her gaze over her shoulder.

"It's supposed to be a compass that is, well, pointing to…" She hesitated, looking a little sheepish before she crossed a hand over her front and tapped her heart. Felicity lowered her shirt, readjusted the waist of her skirt over the tattoo again, and turned around with a tiny smile.

"I told the artist I wanted something to remind me to move forward while still staying true to what's important to me. When she came up with the concept… it felt right." A hand tugged needlessly at the hem of her shirt. "I mean, the arrow was her idea, and I was torn between going with it or asking her to change it-- though, I mean I know-- it is a little too spot on, isn't it--"

"Felicity." Her eyes lifted up to his. "I think it's perfect."

The tiny smile came back while she seemed to assess his sincerity; the smile deepened slowly.

"Thank you."

He returned her smile because there really was nothing else to say: it was, quite simply, perfect.

 


	4. the date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory Season Three SDCC 2014 Trailer Speculation Fic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written within hours of seeing that trailer during the Weekend That Killed the Olicity Fandom 2014. I needed a way to channel all the FEELS (of course) and got this. :P

"Felicity. Would you like to go out to dinner with me?"

The words come to him more easily than anticipated. And they leave him like a breath of fresh air he'd been holding in for too long. The release feels natural, light, and _right_ \-- the weight of a thousand sins carefully laid down with just one question. What was more difficult was trying to keep all the other things that wanted to escape on that very breath: his hopes, his fears, his desires … _His heart._

Watching her process his words with lightning speed was both a mercy and a challenge, because Felicity reacted with honesty and openness -- she always did -- and it _called_ to all the things he was still holding inside.

"As in, a date?" She shook her head a fraction even as her clarification came tumbling out, "I mean a _date-_ date?"

A ghost of a smile teased her lips, traced in uncertainty and surprise, but also tentative pleasure. Oliver felt the curve of his lips mirror her and he knew he was letting go of the iron grip he held over himself. Consciously. Willingly. He wanted this.

"Yes, as in a _date-_ date."

Her smile widened. She nodded.

 

***

 

Oliver blacked out twice that night.

Once after the explosion, only to wake up to death and destruction, but it was nothing compared to the abject terror as he realized Felicity lay unconscious beside him. Of all the questions that filtered into his mind, one sliced though his waking consciousness, cutting down all others: _Was she still alive?_

He blacked out again in the Foundry, Roy barely catching him before he fell. Diggle was already tending to Felicity. He woke, physically and mentally clawing out from the darkness. Emotionally…  was another matter.

Oliver immediately got to his feet, gravitating to her side. Diggle didn’t even attempt to dissuade him. His partner merely pulled up a chair for him. Dimly, he heard Digg tell him her injuries looked worse than they actually were; but the sober tone in the man’s voice acknowledged the harm that went beyond the physical.

At some point, Diggle moved away— Oliver wasn’t sure when, only that he eventually felt alone with her, a private bubble surrounding just the two of them. His hand reached up, a thumb gently pushing a tendril of hair away from her face — and he stared at the shaking hand against her skin. His entire being shook— infinitesimal tremors — sending cracks spider-webbing across his heart.

The moment Felicity woke, her gaze found him almost instantly. Her name lodged itself in his throat; Oliver couldn’t get it out, almost didn’t _want_ to get it out. In his silence, she smiled at him. “Hey.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the twitch of her fingers and in a beat, her hand was engulfed in his.

"Some date, huh?" Her voice was unnaturally rough, scraping him raw. A little furrow appeared between her brow as her eyes focused more on him and studied him, and she pulled her hand out of his to reach up and touch his face.

“ _Hey_ ,” she said again, softly. Her fingertips feathered up his jaw. “Believe it or not,” a corner of her mouth kicked up, “I’ve had worse dates.”

And because this was Felicity, whose being somehow always _beckoned_ to that dying ember of light he often doubted still existed inside him, she managed to pull the rocky laugh from him.

It almost sounded like a sob.

 

***

 

The moment Felicity opened her eyes and saw him, she knew.

There was wrongness etched in the lines and shadows of Oliver's face, and though she was not sure she understood it, she was aware of its presence. It was impossible not to be. The _wrongness_ reached out from him and settled on her like a shroud. Apropos considering the circumstances. It clung to her even as she finally got off the medical table.

The _wrongness_ eventually became a tether, drawing her to him, leading her to seek him out in a darkened corner of the lair.

His profile was outlined in strength and hardness, forged from a five-year crucible. Oliver stood like a warrior, even when the _wrongness_ bled from him like a fatal wound.

_Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more._

His name was on her lips--just as she heard him.

"Felicity."

Barely a whisper. Almost a sigh. A painful caress.

Oliver has said her name a thousand different ways, but this one was new, and it broke her heart. He had never sounded so _tortured_ before. Not by saying her name. Never her name. Her eyes shuttered against his pain. Against her own.

In her self-inflicted blindness, she sensed the warmth of his presence right before his arms circled her. His towering frame enveloped her and yet she felt it was he who clung to her, desperate. Eyes still closed, she pressed into him, laying her cheek on the roughened thick linen of his shirt, memorizing the power of his body against her body, committing to memory the raw vulnerability beneath that strength. He was giving this part of him to her-- if nothing else-- and she recognized the frailty and importance of that gift. She would cherish it.

She would protect it.

"I don’t know how to do this." The brokenness of his voice cut into her like tiny little shards of pain.

Felicity allowed herself one more moment in his arms, another breath, another heart beat, another--

She leaned back, making a deliberate choice to ignore the ache of his arms tightening around her before they loosened just as quickly, and she lifted her gaze up to him. Her lips curved into a soft smile on their own; damned if she knew how they could do that, but they did.

"I know."

Oliver inhaled sharply. A breath stolen from the space between them and she felt bereft in its wake. His eyes searched hers, every raw emotion battling in his gaze, but she would not look away. Could not. Finally, his eyes drifted close, and the _wrongness_ that was bleeding from him stemmed.

Just a little bit.

"I will always be your partner and friend, Oliver," she whispered, and she watched as her words wrapped around the both of them, binding up unspoken wounds.

It would have to be enough.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The way this oneshot ended never felt quite "right" (and still doesn't), and I had intended to rewrite it but ...there have been so many other takes -- and even more meta written about that trailer -- that other smarter people have explored it better than I could, so I no longer feel the need to come back to this fic and try again. 
> 
> I do, however, still like the language here. :) Hope you enjoyed it, too!


	5. sunburnt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompted on Tumblr by bluemoonfireworks with "Felicity gets sunburned on the first day of what was supposed to be their romantic getaway vacation."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn’t make Felicity suffer a sunburn, so I had to flip it. Hope that’s okay. This is definitely raw and I kind of lost the thread of it near the end, but hey, writing!
> 
> Thanks, bluemoonfireworks *smooches*
> 
> (562 words)

"It hurts, doesn’t it."

Oliver paused, carefully angling his head toward her voice, but he didn’t need to see her to know she was smiling. His own lips curved in response to the amusement he heard and he had to bite back a full blow grin.

"It just stings a little."

She made a little noise that sounded like a scoff and laugh mingled together, and the mattress dipped as she settled onto the bed behind him.  He twisted around then, ignoring the painful pull of his skin, and ended up grinning anyway as he finally saw her.

Dressed in a bikini and some wrap-around skirt, Felicity looked carefree and relaxed in a way he’d rarely seen her, and at the moment, that was all that really mattered to him; even if she did have _I told you so_ written all over her smile.

"Oliver," Felicity said. "You look a bit like an angry lobster. Admittedly, a very large, very toned and very muscular angry lobster, but still—" Her eyes swept over him, blatantly amused. "This is a very impressive shade of red you’ve got going."

"I’m fine, Felicity."

He leaned over, intending to kiss her, but he was just a little too sudden, a little too eager—and he felt his face flinch before he could stop himself. The look of her face told him he’d been caught, and he hovered there — just a breath away from her, held in place with that mild look — before she took pity on him, leaned forward to cross the distance herself, and gently pressed her lips on his.

"You really can be an idiot, you know?" she murmured as she drew back.

"Oh, I think we both knew that."

She shook her head with a light laugh. “Okay, come on, turn back around.”

At his raised eyebrow, she picked up a small container off the bed that he hadn’t noticed. “One of the ladies at the _cantina_ was kind enough to give this to me when I told her my manly-man had decided he didn’t need any silly SPF 30 protection.”

His mouth twitched. “I never said it was silly. And,” he said, turning around slowly at the insistent wave of her hands, “Manly-man?”

"Mhm," she said. "It’s sort of both a compliment and a jibe in one which, considering the circumstances, is more than appropriate."

He chuckled. A second later, he was leaning into the touch of her hands, her fingers smoothing some cool, slippery concoction onto his back.

"Is it helping?"

"It is, actually," he said. Wherever the salve was applied, the relief was almost immediate. "Remind me to convey my thanks."

"Mmmm." Her fingers rubbed a little into his shoulders, a pleasant massage made unexpected when he felt her lips press against the top of his shoulder blade.The tiny flick of her tongue was heated.

He turned again — this time without any discomfort— and was met by a very impish grin.

"The _very_ nice lady also said it was edible.” And as if she needed to underscore her statement, Felicity ran her tongue between her lips. “It’s actually quite tasty—”

Her laughter filled the chalet as he flipped her back onto the bed, only for the sound to muffle itself into a delicious giggle under his lips.

(In the end, she wasn’t wrong; Oliver just thought she tasted better.)

 


	6. hit me with your best shot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [kayquimi](http://kayquimi.tumblr.com/) asked: That's your prompt, then: I want one of them saying "Hit me" to the other one for some reason. :3
> 
> **Pre-established Olicity**

It took Oliver only two point thirty two seconds to recognize the guitar riffs and drum beats of the song that was blasting in the foundry, and a subsequent two point eighty six seconds for him to process the three surprising realizations that resulted from it, in rapid succession.

One, there was _music_ in the foundry.

Two, it was a song he could _actually_ recognize

And three…that wasn’t Pat Benatar’s voice resounding off the walls.

In the middle of the foundry, Felicity stood in front of her computers, leaning forward on one arm braced on the table. Her shoulders swayed forward and back and she see-sawed a pen in the air between the fingers of her free hand.

"— _breaking little hearts_  
Like the one in me  
That’s okay—”

Her chair was at one end of the table, the seat turned toward her, but undeniably abandoned.

 _"Put up your dukes,  
Let’s get down to it._ ”

She straightened, her upper body fully swaying with the beat now, and then she tucked both elbows in, the action setting her hips in motion, and it took him another fraction of a second to realize as she rocked on her heels that she was also barefooted.

“ _Hit me with your best shot._  
Why don’t you hit me  
With your best shot  
Hit me with your best shot  
Fire away.”

Her pony tail swung as she sang, and her voice, though smoother than Benatar’s original, was just as fierce, just as powerful. Coming back to another verse, she settled back to her keyboard, set the pen down and typed a few more commands while still singing the rest of the song.

As the song approached the chorus again, she skipped backwards, chin tucked down, and her arms swung out in time with the beat. She spun around at the guitar solo, kicking both heel and head up and—

She froze.

Her lips parted in mid-lyric and she blinked at him because somehow, while watching her, he’d descended the stairs and was now standing a few feet away.

The blush was swift on her face and Oliver was almost sorry he’d interrupted her when the corner of her mouth kicked up.

 _What…_ “Oh. _No_.”

But he felt the tilt of his mouth around the spoken word. The traitorous thing.

Felicity bounded at him and it didn’t escape his notice that his armed seem to inch in her direction even before she hooked her fingers around his elbow.  Her eyebrows arched at him, as if she noticed, too. As if she dared him to deny it.

“ _Come on_ ,” she started again, the laughter curling around her voice making it softer, “ _Hit me with your best shot_.”

She gave him a look that pretty much screamed _I am giving you a pointed look_ , and he couldn’t help it: he laughed.

It was not exactly how he imagined their first dance would be. He wasn’t even sure being pulled and spun around was considered dancing, nor was he sure that she was really paying attention to the lyrics of the song she was singing. But in the kaleidoscope of golden hair and bright colors, surrounded by laughter threaded in music, her hand held on to his — and the warmth in that connection was _exactly_ as he imagined.


	7. bus ride from hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [mystarsandmyocean](http://mystarsandmyocean.tumblr.com/) asked: In honor of my bus ride from hell: Felicity's stuck taking public transportation home from work and asks Dig to pick her up when there's a problem and the bus is detained. Oliver - or the Arrow - shows up instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alas, Sam, no angst here for you. ^_~ This oneshot was also one of those scenes where I kept writing in search of its direction or goal…and I’m still not sure it had any. :-P
> 
> (1.3K words)

Downtown Starling City wasn’t a bad place.  But like many metropolitan city centers, the rat race bustle of the day all but disappeared at night, and in the hours circling midnight, the tall office buildings seemed to loom, the empty streets crisscrossed like a daunting maze, and the chilled air slipped past even the thickest cardigans.

Or at least, Felicity’s cardigan.

Which wasn’t that thick, she admitted, but as she stood on the sidewalk next to the broken down  bus, she wasn’t quite in the mood to take any responsibility for her bad night, nope.

It had started with an emergency call into Kord Industries over a server crashing, which turned out to be _oops, no, it’s not a single server, but the whole network in Lab 10-B_. And was she aware, asked the snooty manager who had been her point of contact for the company, that they were planning to launch the new protocol in the morning? Which meant this needed to be fixed tonight?

Said snooty manager hadn’t even shown up, only conveying insistence and panic over constant (and disruptive) telephone calls.

By the time she had fixed things, even the scathing incident report she sent to said snooty manager’s boss didn’t make her feel better.

(Two weeks ago, she had advised on what needed to be done to avoid _this exact problem_. None of it was implemented despite her repeated queries over its status and offers to come in and ensure it was done.)

(She still wasn’t sure if she should have deleted the “You have failed this project.” line in her comments.)

It was close to midnight when she finally headed to her car, simply exhausted. It turned out her car was just as exhausted: it wouldn’t start.

It was past midnight by the time she got on the last metropolitan bus out of the city, its sole passenger.

And it took no more than fifteen minutes for that vehicle’s engine to stutter and die on some lonesome street.

The bus driver had only shrugged when she’d asked if someone would come by to fix the bus — or, you know, provide some other means of transport?

It really, really wasn’t a good night.

She went through her options and with a sigh, made the call on her phone.

Digg picked up on the second ring. “Felicity?”

"Hey," she said. "I know it’s late, but I’m sort of stranded downtown. My car broke down. And then the bus broke down, and…"

"Where are you?"

She eyed the street signs and relayed her location. “Like I said, I know it’s late, but do you think..?”

There was a pause, and when Digg answered, she could hear the mild reproach in his voice. “Did you really think you had to ask?”

She smiled faintly. “I just …I know you and Lyla have your hands full, that’s all.”

"Right. Because you don’t think Lyla wouldn’t throttle me if I left you on some curb somewhere."

She laughed.

"Are you safe where you are?" he asked. "Is anyone else there with you?"

"The bus driver is …here, I guess," she said. The middle aged man leaned on the side board of the bus, arms crossed and head bowed, ignoring her.

"Okay. Hang tight."

"Thanks, Digg."

Despite knowing that help was on the way, Felicity still ended up inching closer to the bus, finding herself eye the shadows between the street lamps.  When her phone beeped with an incoming text, she nearly jumped.

On the screen of her cell phone, it read “At the corner.”

She looked up, puzzled Digg would use their Arrow communications lines. She cast another look a the bus — the driver now snoring while he stood? — and then squinted at the corner. It took her a moment before she realized she could make out the extra shadow leaning against the building…. The outline of a man, hood and all.

Felicity blinked. It didn’t even register to her when she started walking toward him.

By the time she drew close, she saw the motorcycle behind him on the street. She paused, slanting Oliver a look as he pushed off the wall.

"Digg called me. He figured I might be closer," he said, answering her silent question.

"You were patrolling?" Her brow pulled down. "I thought we were all off tonight."

Under the mask, caught by a stray beam of light, his mouth tilted up wryly.

"Well, you weren’t going to  be…" he said, shrugging. They all knew she would be going into Kord Industries that night— the ill-fated call coming in just as they were all leaving the foundry.

"But it’s been a quiet night for me," he went on. "Sounds like it wasn’t for you, though."

Her mind was still trying to process his earlier answer, but she was just too tired, so she went along with the subject change, shaking her head.  “Let’s just say on a scale of bad nights, this one ranks with mandatory bubble bath and bed.”

After a beat, her eyebrows snapped together and she asked, “Did that come out wrong? I think I’m too tired to tell.”

His lips curved up, and instead of answering, he tilted his head to his motorcycle. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

After handing her the helmet, though, he lifted the seat compartment and pulled out the tanned leather jacket he sometimes wore as Oliver.

"You’ll freeze on the way without something warmer than what you’ve got on," he said.

He settled it on her shoulders, holding out the sleeves for her arms to go through. Her fingers barely made it and when he gently folded the cuffs back, a small laugh escaped her.

"Well, this must look very strange to anyone watching," she told him when he looked at her with amused askance. "Some random girl being tucked into an oversized jacket by the Arrow in the middle of downtown late at night."

"Not some random girl," he corrected, looking at her with an odd smile. "Have you ridden before?"

She blinked at his subject change — twice, now, she thought vaguely — and then caught up to the new question. She arched an eyebrow at him. “I _have_ actually. Both as driver and as pillion passenger.”

The surprised look on his face was satisfying, if brief.

"Though…I’m really tired," she told him. "So promise me you’ll stop and get me if I pass out and fall off. Also, remember to go easy on the shift changes."

He chuckled. “Understood.”

Regardless, it still took her a moment to get herself on the bike, needing to rearrange her skirt over her thighs and tugging Oliver’s jacket in place so it wouldn’t throw her off. She hesitated a second before tucking her knees against his hips and gave him a a light squeeze on his shoulder lightly to signal she was ready.

Ten minutes into the ride, Felicity realized she’d forgotten how much she’d enjoyed riding. As if sensing her enjoyment, Oliver took a slightly meandering route back to her home. They went past the bridge, the city lights reflecting off the water, and the wind whipped the strands of hair peeking out from her helmet.  True to his word, he kept a constant speed, and after a while, she was almost lulled into a relaxing trance.

"I’d forgotten how things just sort of all away on a ride," she said, once they got to her home and she had dismounted. Taking off her helmet, she ran smoothed out the strands of her hair with a hand. "I needed that. Thank you."

"Anytime." He smiled back at her, and shook his head when she began to shrug out of the jacket. "No need to give it back to me now. Do you need a ride tomorrow?"

"I— Sure." She was out of a car, after all.

"I’ll be here in the morning, then," he said, adjusting the bike up. "As Oliver."

Felicity laughed. “You’re always Oliver to me. Even as Arrow.”

"Good to know." She heard the smile under the cover of his hood. Nodding her goodnight, she turned to head up the steps. She paused, turning back. "Hey, Oliver?"

"Hm?"

"Thanks for keeping tabs on me tonight."

The hood shifted with his head tilt, but he said nothing. He didn’t have to. Felicity smiled.


End file.
